Page 37 of The Worst Guy

"We need to row more to the left," I said, lifting the left oar for emphasis.

"Could you just stop? Seriously, do less. You're going one way, I'm going the other. You're fucking us all up."

I hooked a glance over my shoulder at him. "If anyone's the problem here, it's you."

"If you'd let me do the rowing, we wouldn't have this problem," he fired back.

"I'm not going to sit here while you row us to the boathouse," I said, slapping my oar against the surface. The oar connected with the water harder than I'd intended, sending a spray back at Sebastian.

"Shap," he growled. "There will be no splashing this morning."

"It was an accident!"

"You cause a lot of accidents," he muttered. "Something to consider."

We got our oars into position and started rowing in a slow, sloppy rhythm. We weren't going anywhere quickly but we weren't veering off in a circle this time. At this pace, we had at least another hour of rowing ahead of us.

"You know…this is bullshit," Sebastian grumbled from behind me.

"What are you complaining about now?"

"All these exercises where we have to work together to get to the end—they're bullshit."

"Did you just now discover the point of all this?" I asked. "And if so, can I ask where you went to med school because I have questions."

"UCLA, and no, I didn't discover it now. I'm just annoyed about it now."

I glanced back at him. "UCLA? I went to USC undergrad."

"What did I tell you about the splashing!" he yelled as he ran a hand down his face and shook water droplets from his fingers. "You want to talk about LA, you do it without turning around or wiggling in your seat. The next time I get wet, you get wet."

I knew what he meant.

I understood the context clearly.

The only trouble was, he was right behind me.Right there.And those words were so rough and impatient and deep that the primordial portion of my brain heard something different than a threat about rogue waves in rowing. My brain heard growls and groans, and skin moving together. My brain heard all the unthinkably good things that happened when we argued while naked. My brainlovedthose sounds.

And I hated that I went there. I hated that he could awaken those thoughts in me without trying. I hated that I wanted it, regardless of whether it was very, very bad for me.

"At what point do we go ahead and beat each other with the oars?" I asked. "I'm wondering because I'd like to get in as much splashing as possible before that time."

"You're a sociopath," he murmured.

"Are we diagnosing each other now? Because that will be fun."

He made a noise, something like a laugh that'd taken an unexpected turn into a groan. "Maybe later."

"The oar beating? Or the diagnosing?"

He didn't respond to that verbally but the sigh he released could've filled our sails…if we had any sails.

We found the rhythm again and made decent progress though it never seemed like the boathouse got any closer. My arms were somewhere between the fire and noodle stages.

Eventually, Sebastian said, "Did you stay in California after USC?"

"No." I shook my head. I'd needed room to breathe then. Needed to be far enough away from home that I could establish boundaries, even if the only boundary was distance. "Hopkins med. Columbia residency. Stayed in New York for fellowship."

There was a pause. Then, "Really."